


Too Late for Goodbye

by sadlittlepeachesandplums



Series: Quentin and Eliot Drabble Collection [7]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, post 3x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlittlepeachesandplums/pseuds/sadlittlepeachesandplums
Summary: Upon remembering everything about their alternate life, Quentin makes a horrifying realization.





	Too Late for Goodbye

It’s three days after they remember that Quentin makes the realization. He’s sitting in Eliot’s room in the castle, flipping through the quest book. Every page is replaced by a memory from their other life, and it plays like a movie in his head. Stupidly simple words bring another memory on, and then he’s lost in it. 

But this is the first real one of his—their—son. It’s not long after Ariel died. 

Maybe thinking about her is what makes him realize. 

But the book falls out of his hands, and the chair uprights itself as his legs lose their footing in the nightstand, and the front two feet of the chair come crashing down to the ground. His hands come up to his chest and mouth, as his breathing grows ragged. 

He hadn’t even considered…

Oh god. 

It’s then that the door opens, and Eliot, in all his kingly glory strolls in, sneer on his lips. “That fucking bitc—Q?” The sneer falls and he rushes across the room like nothing else in the world matters. He falls to his knees in front of the chair and grabs one of Quentin’s hands, pulls it until he can press it to his own chest. Something they’d learned in the other life—Eliot’s pulse somehow calms Quentin. Eases him down from the brink of panic. 

Except Quentin’s not panicking. 

His face scrunches up and he tries to pull away, because oh god, they’re terrible people. How could they—how could they just leave? How could they—how could  _he_? 

 _“_ Q, breathe _.” E_ liot says, keeping a tight grip on his hands, “What happened? Did the fairy queen figure out who you are?” 

Quentin shakes his head, feels something bright burning in his chest. Thinks he might throw up. Instead, he leans forward, into the warmth surrounding Eliot, and sobs into the air, “ _He’s dead_!” And it’s clear, almost immediately _t_ hat Eliot has no idea who he’s talking about. He grabs a fistful of Eliot’s shirt and pulls himself in until he’s sobbing into his chest.

Eliots free hand comes up to weave into Quentin’s hair, holds him there. It takes him a few minutes before he finally asks, “Who? Who’s dead?” 

Maybe he thinks it’s one of their friends. Maybe he thinks it’s from messenger bunny. Maybe he thinks Quentin’s finally reacting to Penny’s not death. Quentin’s unsure. All that matters is, “ _Rupert’s dead_.” 

Hegets it now. Why people say a parent shouldn’t outlive their child. There’s an emptiness, larger and crueler and colder than the depression. 

Rupert’s dead. Quentin doesn’t even know how. Doesn’t know when. All he knows is he’s been dead for decades. His son. 

His son is dead, and here Quentin is, living his life as if none of it happened. Hop scotch on the mosaic, and flowers in the spring. Family dancing in the yard to a magicked guitar. 

Tiny hands that slowly grew large and calloused until they held their own tiny hands. 

His son is dead. His grandchildren are dead. Everyone he and Eliot cared about are dead. 

Their entire family. 

But here they are. 

Eliots hand tightens in Quentin’s hair, like he’s only just realized it as well. And then Quentin’s being pulled to the ground, and Eliot’s manhandling him until his sitting on his lap with his head on Eliot’s chest, and Eliot’s chin in on Quentin’s hairline. 

He doesn’t realize Eliot’s crying, too, until he feels the tears fall from Eliot’s cheeks and land in Quentin’s hair. 

“We outlived him,” Eliot breathes, voice heavy and hoarse all at once. “We outlived him and the grandkids and their kids. We outlived them all.” 

And he moves back, just enough to press a kiss to Quentin’s forehead. They both tuck their chins in and sit against the side of the bed. Neither of them say anything else, even as guards knock on the door, and the sunlight outside fades to darkness. 

They’d remembered everything for days. But they hadn’t for a moment taken time to think about Rupert. About what happened to him. 

He’s dead. And they don’t even know how he died. How any of them died. 

They’re all dead, and all Quentin and Eliot can do is live their lives again, without their family. Without the singing children’s laughter, or tiny hands. 

Because it’s been gone for years, and they’ll never get it back.


End file.
